Author's note: I wrote this story for my AP English class with the understanding that my primary critic would be my meticulously analytical teacher, who also happens to be a self-proclaimed Labyrinth fan. But even she could not completely understand my story. As my teacher's greatest disadvantage (we later discovered) was that she had not watched Jim Henson's intricate masterpiece quite closely enough, I figured that my best critics would be those who have watched Labyrinth hundreds of times AND have watched it analytically, as fanfiction writers must. So, with no further ado, "here there be monsters." A thousand thanks to each of you for embarking on this maze.
World Falls Down
Written by a lady grinning
She walks forward through the stillness. It has rained recently; her feet squish in the grass. A stray breeze picks up her skirt and brushes it against her bare legs.
There is a bench by the pond. He sits in it, waiting for her.
She cannot run to him, so she walks.
"I thought you were dead."
He smiles slowly.
"Where have you been?"
"Out of sight," he replies. "But never gone.
"No." She is staring down at his leg.
"Sit."
She looks sharply up at his face, but he is ready for her.
She sits. They do not touch.
"It is," he says, eventually, "good to see you again."
She looks at him secretly. He is not looking at her.
"You can laugh whenever you want. This is scarier."
He smiles, but does not laugh.
The silence churns in her stomach.
"Why did you come back?"
Now he looks at her. "Why did you?"
"I did not call for you."
Now he laughs. Once. "Of course you did."
"I've barely thought about you."
He studies her face. "I would have thought you'd have thrown that dress away."
She looks at the sleeve that her fingers desperately caress. "I couldn't."
"No," he agrees. He must be smiling again.
The breeze is back, frantically calling her name.
"Why are you here, Goblin King?"
"To reminisce." His smile worries her. "We met here."
So they did.
"No, we . . ."
He may laugh.
" . . . we did."
He stands. "You stood about . . . here."
"Yes."
"And I, of course, was there," he gestures.
"Yes."
"Come here."
She rises with difficulty, stiffly walks to his side.
He smiles. "You haven't aged a day."
—oh, please get up!
"I have," she glares at him.
His face is a bemused apology.
"You look the same."
He laughs. "Would you have me otherwise?"
"You are too dramatic," she spits, wondering why she allows these words to poison the world.
"You always were," she accuses.
His lips twist luridly. "And you were not?"
—God! We've got to call—
I did! They'll be here any—
She shakes her head violently. "Of course I was—dramatic! I was fifteen!"
"Thirteen years. My, my."
"Thirteen years! Oh, it really has been too long, I said to myself. So here we are. How old are you now?"
A wind rushes through and is gone. Nothing has been disturbed. It is quiet again.
"What did you say?"
She looks up at him. The old rain is soaking her bottom. "What?"
"What you said just now."
No. "I . . ."
"Muttering to yourself," he sinks to her eye level. "And what do you know that must be a secret from me?"
She scrambles to her feet. "A lot," she wheezes.
"Oh? Like what?"
"Like that I haven't been happy since I last saw your face."
What?
A gentler smile. He is flattered.
She feels the leather stick to her cheek and hears the name.
Do you have any idea why she—
Don't you dare blame me! I only just got—
Please stop it!
The air rings.
"Why not?"
She realizes that he has spoken. "What?"
"Why haven't you been happy?"
Her face sweats beneath his fingers. She twists away, has to sit down.
"I . . ."
His face is in the sky. Ravenous.
"Do you remember my name?"
The cool warmth returns to her face, pulls at the corner of her mouth, presses her fingers into the earth.
"J—"
Oh shit.
"Go on." The words form against her mouth.
"Say it." Like he is breathing for her.
. . . no, please baby, don't . . .
"Say it." The words bite into her lips.
Okay.
"You have no power over me."
She's coming back!
He rocks back onto his knees, smiling.
The wetness weighs her down.
He is at her side. Her hand is cold in his.
The sky is gray. No clouds, just gray.
"And what are you up to these days?"
"What did you say to her?"
It is getting darker.
"There was nothing to say."
"No? Well, I've got this new thing, if you're ever in the city and want to take a peak. David and I would love it if you'd stay with us. Plenty of room."
"Not to her."
"Ta-ta."
"Mom can't begin to understand the concept of failure."
His fingers brush across her forehead, sweeping aside the hair blown into her eyes.
"You have always been so beautiful," he says
Down her throat. Start pumping.
He squeezes her hand.
"I'll never forget what it was like dancing with you."
Some headache she must have had.
"You are intelligent . . . remarkably persuasive . . . you never lost your stubbornness, either, and I've always secretly fancied that."
It's all up to her, now.
"It was so easy to fall in love with you."
Come on, sweetheart.
She can sit up now.
He smiles.
Come on, please, open your eyes!
She can feel the warmth of his skin, the warmth of his breath, and she hasn't even touched him yet.
"David and I would love it if you'd stay with us."
David.
She pulls away at the very last second and looks at his face.
Oh God.
She's moving!
"Shocking resemblance, isn't it?" He weakly laughs.
She can feel the tears drip down her face.
Immediately, his gloved hands are there, one cupping her cheek, one wiping the tears away.
"Thank you," she whispers.
She is standing now.
"Should you need me . . ." he says, but they both know it is futile.
"No," she shakes her head, forcing a smile through the tears. "I won't need you anymore."
The world is getting brighter.
"Goodbye, Sarah."
End.
Thanks again.